


Swine

by Janusoverlord



Category: Original Work
Genre: Betrayal, Empire, Fantasy, M/M, Space Godlings, Space Opera, Space Vampires, Unreliable Narrator, m/m - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janusoverlord/pseuds/Janusoverlord
Summary: Oh, how the Emperor is brought low. Shunned.The world turns. Again and again.Now begins the ten thousand years of torment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> RPed Emperor Cetheran for years and years. He died. Then came back breifly and was imprisoned and then exiled. This is just to explore what he's doing these days now that he's changed so much. Also; worldbuilding.

It snowed here. Constantly.

A gentle drift that covered the mountain-side and coloured the world white.

He’d been brought to Adam’s palace and then left alone. Given a room that was large and ostentatious, full of furniture that wasn’t his style and looked…not what he was used to. Everything here was off. His palace with its marble hallways, white, tall ceilings and crystal chandeliers. This palace, Adam’s palace, was all thick, soft carpets and warm interiors, low ceilings and narrow hallways. Rarely was any floor uncovered. The walls were decorated with tapestries, candelabras with unlit candles sitting along the walls. There was a snow-covered garden, a fountain overflowing with ice. Wrought iron portcullis and towering walls with wandering guards.

Cetheran turned from the window, his arms wrapped around himself, huddling in his robes, the many layers thereof. He’d been given servants, and they clothed him, helped feed him when he had the interest, cleaned his rooms and brought him gifts.

Adam loved his gifts. The little ornaments for his hair, a broach to pin the outer most of his robes there, a necklace there.

He wore several now, because at his heart he was a foul, greedy man, and he was starving for it. For anything. Knocked down so low what did he have now but his _things_ and his misery. His betrayal.

His chamber door opened.  
  
“You’re awake.” Adam sounded pleased. He was a short man, comparatively, if he could be called so at six feet. Dressed like a butcher out to kill pigs, his gloves leathery and thick, his jacket made for snowmelt and deep, wide lakes.

Cetheran looked over at him.

Adam was covered in blood.

“…What happened?” he asked. He was tired, so tired, and it made his voice flat, and quiet.

“Lord Valefar fell. Lucifer cut him into a thousand pieces,” Adam said, verging on content. Well fed, like one of his pigs.

Cetheran closed his eyes, pain spearing through his chest. He lowered his head, snow white hair falling forward. “At my son’s order, no doubt.”

“He certainly didn’t protest,” Adam said, stopping by Cetheran’s side. His eyes were heavy on him, taking him in. Greedy little things, raking like nails over his skin. Taking him in, drawing him in. Pulling his essence from him.

Pressing a pale hand to his forehead, Cetheran sighed, sinking under the weight of the knowledge that, once again, Matt hated him. Matt had disowned him. Forced him out of the Empire he’d built for him. Changed for him. Handed over to him. Only for him to only turn his back on him at the last moment of his death, as he begged for a swift end. To side with the unspeakable, the vultures. The rotten little rat-like things he’d deigned to call anything but what they were all for Matt.

A hand smoothed through his hair.

Cetheran ignored it.

Adam tilted his chin up, leather thick and cold against his skin. “My snowflake,” Adam said softly, pulling his hand away from his face, taking him. “You’re to stay here for the remainder of your ten thousand years torment, as you promised.”

Cetheran’s eyes opened, meeting Adam’s blue eyes. He wished he was younger. Wished his spirit hadn’t been beaten out of him with a few simple words, wished he wasn’t so weak near the end of his life. “Ten thousand? I don’t think I could last.”

Adam smiled, and it was the smile of a wolf, sharp teeth and drooling mouths. Bestial. “You will.”

It was captivating, really. Blond haired and blue eyes, cheeks dusted with reddish vigour at the uttercoldness of Cetheran’s rooms, Adam looked like he was full of life. More and more, every passing moment, the longer he remained, the more Cetheran felt like he was being drained dry. Like a leech. Like a pest and insect not worth his notice.

“Leave,” Cetheran ordered, barely a whisper, eyes half closing, white eyelashes covering his pale eyes.

Adam’s thumb slid over his lower lip instead, tugging it down, taking in Cetheran’s teeth, his fangs. “Drink the blood my servants bring you, Cetheran.”

“Or what?” Cetheran smiled wryly, looking up at Adam again. “What could you possibly do to me now? I’m already destroyed.”

Adam’s smile remained. Cetheran wondered if his eyes would reflect shine in the dark. “Eat. Or you will find out. You will last.”

His hand drew away.

Cetheran took a breath, shifting a hand to the arm of his chair, pushing himself upright. He’d leaned into Adam like a flower to the sun. Salvation and destruction all in one being. He straightened his spine, raised his chin, and then turned his attention to the window again. Powerlessness caressed him like an old friend. He missed his father.

The door clicked shut. He was alone again.

Blood dripped sluggishly from Cetheran sleeves, nails digging in deep. So much for his promises. So much for never ending up on to bottom again. And he couldn’t even find the will to want to escape this prison, with its high walls, wandering guards and snow-covered mountains.

Ah. How pathetic. Brough back to life only to be here again. And having ten thousand years more ahead of him.

He wasn’t sure he had the energy to go forward anymore.

Where was there to go?

Nowhere but down, further into the dirt.

He hadn’t even been able to get his revenge on his dear son.


	2. the guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a guest kept a secret in Adam's castle.

The kitchen was in chaos.

It was easy for Sam to take an apple or two and hide in his pockets, looking at the staff as they buzzed around. There was some sort of dinner tonight that Lord Adam was hosting, some sort of making amends with the other godlings of the universe, or an attempt at it. Eve wasn’t going to be coming, it was whispered. Adam refused to go back to her, to find wherever she’d been locked away.

“Samuel,” Oletta said, catching sight of him as he hid behind one of the flour covered tables, staring out at everyone within the reach of the heat of the large hearth.

Sam’s back straightened and he looked over at her, eyes wide. Caught.

She was a large woman, had lived a good life in kitchens since she was a young child. Her unruly hair was pulled back and hidden beneath a veil, though some unruly strands spilled free around her temples and neck. 

“Make yourself useful,” she said, waving him closer instead of berating him, “and I will give you some of the soup we’re making for the guests if there’s some left over.” She turned, wiping down a silver tray, setting it on a clean surface.

Sam crept closer. She hadn’t noticed then. “Is it…for the guests?”

“Not for them,” she said, taking a fine crystal glass that looked like it would reflect a million shades of light along the walls if he passed by the sun. There was no sun today, unfortunately. Snow again. As always. “There’s a guest that has been staying here, in the east wing. Eve’s quarters, do you remember how to get there?” she asked, taking a large iron pot that had been over the hearth and carefully pouring the liquid that had been heating inside into the delicate decanter she’d set with the cup. Both went on the silver tray.

“Ah… Yes, I remember,” Sam said, hesitant. He’d heard no one was supposed to go down there. The east wing was only for the maids and servants, and those who went weren’t to stay too long.

“Good,” Oletta said. “Wash your hands and fix your hair up. You can take this to him.”

Sam blinked, looking at the decanter. “What…what is it?”

Oletta paused, then looked at Sam. “Pigs blood.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “…Is this guest a vampire?” he asked.

Oletta jerked and then swatted his head. “Don’t you dare use such fowl language in this house, child. We taught you better than that. The man is Lord Adam’s guest, you should treat him with respect.”

Sam rubbed his head, looking up at her in apology. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Arcadian,” he corrected.

“Good, now wash your hands.”

The east wing was cold, the carpets and tapestries covering the cold stone floors and walls not doing much to keep the heat out. There wasn’t a single flame or fireplace lit here. It was dark, could have passed for night if he’d woken unsure of the time. There were very few servants here, and all hurried to get back to the warmer areas of the castle. The entire wing had a sense of gloom about it.

One of his cousins, Betty, knocked on the chamber door for him. Together they waited and when no answer came, and Sam looked at Betty anxiously, she only shrugged and opened it. She whispered, “It’s alright, he probably won’t even notice you. Just put it on the table and leave.”

Sam swallowed thickly and stepped into the room, blinking at the splendour of it. The hallways outside were bare comparatively, perhaps because everything minutely fine and beautiful had been moved inside. It was a large room, with several places for lounging, a writing desk, a large bed, windows along every wall and, in the centre, an enormous chandelier.

The person sitting on the windowsill was at first unnoticeable amongst the splendour of everything else. He fit perfectly, long white hair trailing down ivory robes that spilled over the sill and onto the floor, layers and layers of them. His face was nearly as white as the material, his ears pointed at the tips, face notably young, even when turned away from him. Diamonds glittered here and there.

The man was also enormous, even sitting.

Sam swallowed thickly and moved forward slowly, the glass and decanter rattling lightly on the tray as he moved inside. There was a little table by the man, and he paused, then set the tray down on it, forcing himself to take his eyes away from him. He’d never seen such splendour before, such materials, such…otherworldliness.

There was a shift of fabric and when Sam straightened, the man was looking at him. He found himself unable to move, staring back wide-eyed. Amidst all of the white, the pale face, the shining jewels and silver embroidery there were bright, glowing eyes, unnaturally pale, unnaturally blue.

He continued to stare at him.

Sam stared back. “Ah. Uhm. Food for you. Sir.”

The eyes left, finally, dipping down to the tray. Those unnatural eyes hid behind long pale eyelashes. Same took a breath. Arcadians were terrifying. He couldn’t have been older than thirty.

“Pour it,” the man said, the words barely more than a whisper, his accent odd, the words almost slurred.

Sam moved forward and picked up the decanter carefully, holding it with two hands. He poured the blood into the glass, nearly to the brim, then set the decanter down, considering himself lucky to not have spilled it, to have made it overflow.

Another shift of fabric, and Sam looked up to an outstretched hand. His innermost sleeve seemed to be red, somewhat a surprise amongst as off the white.

Sam picked up the glass and handed it over.

The man’s hands were huge, even, almost dwarfing his.

“Leave.”

Sam bowed a little, staring. “Ah. If. If I may.”

Those eyes returned to him again as the glass was lifted to pale lips.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked, frowning. “Why aren’t you going to the dinner Lord Adam is hosting tonight?”

The man paused. The glass lowered. “Lord Adam,” he repeated, somewhat surprised.

Sam frowned and took a slight step back. The man didn’t react, instead staring ahead at nothing, distantly over Sam’s shoulder. Too frightened to move, Sam remained. It seemed like a long time, a very long time, perhaps five minutes, before those eyes returned to him.

“Do you think him a shining example of a lord, child?”

Sam blinked. “Of course. He does what he can. He took all of us in after Eve wanted to burn us all at the stake.” It still hurt. Hurt that their matron they had followed so obediently had turned against them.

“He feeds off you. He’s no better than a leech,” the man said, sipping from his glass finally. “A vampire for your emotions and hurt.”

Sam blinked, confused. “I…No he. He’s human. He eats with us.”

“That he does,” the man said, eyeing his glass with distaste. “What is this?”

Sam looked at the glass. “Pigs blood, sir.”

The man took a breath, the first Sam had noticed. “Ah. Of course.” He held his glass out and upended it, the blood spilling onto the carpet by his feet, splashing along fine curtains and thick, old rugs.

Sam could only stare, words caught in his throat. 

The glass dropped to the floor with a heavy thump shortly after, then rolled under a chair.

The man looked out the window again, turning his face away.

Sam had utterly no idea what to do. Unsure of whether he’d be attacked if he moved closer, if he’d be berated if he moved away. Standing frozen for a long moment, Sam moved forward, then dove under the chair for the glass. The blood was sticky on his fingers. He placed it on the tray again.

“You can call me Ceth.”

Sam blinked, then looked up. The man was staring out the window, fine, straight nose nearly pressed to the glass, long neck bared by the robes, material draped over his chest and shoulders, hair tangling in the broaches and pins holding the material together.

“Keth?” Sam repeated.

“Hmm.”

Sam stared for a moment longer, then smiled a little, even if most of it was nerves. “Thank you. I’m Sam.”

“Samuel?” Ceth asked, still turned away.

Sam straightened and dusted his pants off, noting he’d gotten blood on them from the carpet anyway. How did one even clean this? He’d have to tell Betty. “No. Just Sam,” he corrected.

“I prefer Samuel.”

“That.” Sam frowned. “That’s not really how that works. But okay,” he said, “I’d rather you called me Sam.”

“Go away, Samuel. Tell Lord Adam to not feed me insect blood,” Ceth said, closing his eyes and sighing.

Sam watched him a moment, then nodded slowly. “Should…I take the tray?”

“Yes.”

Sam nodded and bent, then picked up the tray. “Ah. Good day, Mister Ceth.”

Sam hunted down Betty before he left the east wing, telling her about the blood, then went back to the kitchens. Lord Adam was in his office, he was informed, and it was best he told him himself of what the Arcadian had said and done. The creature had been strange, beautiful and otherworldly in a way he’d not been told Arcadians could be. He’d only been told, had heard stories, that they were planet invaders, a species incredibly hard to kill, and without females.

Sam took a moment to go outside and climb over a second story bridge that ran from the East wing tower to the main section of the palace. He crouched in an alcove on the roof and ate his apples, staring out at the snow covered fields. There was a long procession coming towards the palace. Their guests, he assumed. Maybe that was what Ceth had been watching. How could he see with those eyes. He wondered if he could see anything at all.

Adam was indeed in his office when he went there, sitting behind his large wooden desk, flipping through a large book, a ledger of some kind, several candles lit and places around his table. He looked up when Sam knocked on the door. Then looked down at the blood on his pants.

“Ahm. Forgive me, mi lord. My name is Sam. I was asked to take blood to your guest in the eastwing? Mister Ceth?”

Adam sat up and closed the large book, amusement colouring his features. He was a handsome man, had kind eyes and an easy smile. Looked every part the lord with his short blond hair brushing along his collar and kind blue eyes watching him. “Ceth? Is that what he asked you to call him?”

Sam tilted his head. “Yes milord. He told me to call him Ceth.”

Adam hummed, then cleaned his quill with a cloth. “Why do you come?”

“Oh. He said he doesn’t like the pigs blood. Called them insects, sir,” Sam said, a little wary. Adam had such a humorous outlook on life and was so gentle, yet he thought of Ceth’s words. That he was feeding on them.

Adam hummed. “Did he say anything else?”

Sam hesitated. “No Sir.”

Adam set his quill in its holder and then looked at him. “Did he have any of it?”

“No sir he took a sip and then poured it on the floor,” Sam said, a little pained.

That had Adam pause. “Ah.” He stood, and Sam skittered to stand by the side of the door.

“Thank you,” Adam said, moving out from behind his desk and walking out the door. “Return to your tasks. I will see to him.”


	3. punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking care of things.

The servants came and tutted over the spilled blood, took away the area rug and chair and then helped him change his outer robe. All of them looked faintly queasy but did their best as quickly as they could. Cetheran watched them go with tired eyes, twisting the rings on his fingers, then turned his attention to the approaching carriage train making its way closer to the palace.

He could make out several of the most important carriages, each with soldiers riding alongside them on large animals, swords and high-powered rifles slung over their shoulders. They were distinctly Arcadian in make, made for long ranges and with a UV capability. Cetheran wondered if they had heard he was in residence and were worried. Had he been younger, healthier, he was sure they should have been. The high walls and watchful guards would never have been an issue for him. The utter uselessness of his body now tugged at his chest, the pain burrowing deep.

How could his sweet son turn his back on him now, when he was like this? Perhaps it had been Lucifer’s intention all along. He was only an Arcadian in a game of gods and beings beyond his understanding. Space was wider and more expansive than he’d ever imagined, and it stood to reason that eventually, after billions of years of being the strongest thing in the universe, he’d hit a wall.

And that wall had gifted him his destruction wrapped up in the sweet form of his beautiful little son. His partner, his lover.

He should have never adopted him into the royal line. Should have never accepted a human amongst the Arcadians as anything but the animals they were.

His chamber door opened again, the metal fixtures creaking as it was opened and pushed. Heavy, confident footfalls followed.

Cetheran turned to look, forcing his mind away from Matt’s betrayal.

Adam was carrying the decanter he’d sent the boy away with, his eyes fixed on him as he neared. “I told you to drink,” he said, his eyebrows pulling low over his eyes, but otherwise looking calm.

Cetheran didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. “I did.” He bowed his head a little.

“The boy said you had a sip. Then ruined several pieces of furniture.” Adam set the decanter down on the table by the window with a clunk, then looked at the oddly empty space to his right, where there should have been another chair and area rug covering cold stone floors.

Cetheran raised his chin, looking Adam over. He’d tied his hair back and secured it with a black ribbon, the material peeking out either side of his neck. His necktie had a cameo over his throat, showing the profile of a woman wearing a veil over her head, her hair hiding her ears. Why a butcher would bother with such little elements of finery, an attempt at being regal, he had no idea. “His _lordship_ can afford to replace them,” Cetheran replied, tone flat.

Adam turned his attention back to him. “You know I rule these people.”

“The Terran’s you’ve taken? All Terrans belong to Lucifer. They’re not yours.”

Adam smiled. “Ah, that’s what he thinks. When El died Eve took up his work with Mary. When she turned on us and Lilith boxed her up somewhere, these people were left without a leader, untrusting of Lilith and Lucifer. They turned to me. And so they are mine, as much as you are Lilith’s.”

Cetheran’s eyes hardened. “I’m not hers.”

“You had twins with her, though, didn’t you?” Adam asked, amused, linking his arms behind his back. He watched Cetheran with predatorial fixation.

“She nearly killed me in order to have them, then never let me see them but once. I don’t even know where they are,” Cetheran muttered, looking back out the window. “I had to lay with her whenever she wanted, and because I thought she was my Lady, I agreed faithfully. Because she was our goddess. She was our only woman…” His tone became harder and flatter as he continued. He swallowed thickly. “Lucifer gave me Matt. And he ruined me. It ruined my Empire.” He raised his chin and looked over at Adam. “I never saw anything from them but manipulations. That’s why I agreed to come here. I will not be in her territory again and my son wants me dead. Again.”

While Adam had listened calmly, patiently, he smiled after a long while. “You’re under my ceiling and under my rule, Cetheran. You pledged yourself to me when Lord Valefar brought you here.”

“He saw an ally in you after she had kept him locked up for thousands of years. My loyalty was to him, not to you,” Cetheran snapped, glaring at Adam.

Something in Adam shifted. A hardness behind his eyes. “Well you’re here now. You have no other keter willing to care for you and shield you from the Arcadians. You’re living in my castle. You are mine.”

Cetheran bared his teeth, long fangs showing behind pale lips. “I am not. I belong to no one.”

“Would you prefer I call you Daddy? That’s apparently the way to get you to behave, isn’t it?” Adam asked instead, tone mocking.

Anger had always been a source of energy to Cetheran and had never failed him. Like now, it filled him, made his hands shake. He felt too large for his skin, energy rushing along his veins and urging him to move.

He stood and took no more than a few steps towards Adam before he was intercepted, Adam moving towards him as well. He raised an arm, intending to cave Adam’s skull in, and instead the arm he’d aimed at him was caught and the ground rushed up to meet him, his knees buckling under the sudden shove. He struggled, digging his nails in, shifting his feet against heavy material and soft carpets as he pushed at Adam, rage and long engrained instincts returning. There were holes, though, in his memory and his muscles ability to carry out his own defence.

The move that should have bent the arm Adam caught his own with at an unnatural angle simply had no power, the angle wrong, the timing off. He was rusty and wilting. Old and fading.

Adam struck his cheek and jaw several times, the blows hard enough to have his eyes roll back. Something in his cheekbone snapped. Finally, he released him and fell to the ground, hissing sharply. Pain speared him through, and he kicked and struggled as Adam fisted his hands in his clothes and tore, delicate heavy materials ripping, the sounds overly loud in the quiet room.

Adam wasn’t wearing his thick leather gloves anymore, and his skin was warm against his own, grazing against him as he fisted his hands in the silken belts at his waist and yanked, pulled the rings from his fingers, the jewels from his neck.

Cetheran rolled along the carpet, rose a knee and kicked Adam as hard as he could.

Adam went flying, knocking over a chair and crashing into a bookcase. The wood of the shelves snapped.

Cetheran rolled onto his stomach and panted, clawed at the material sliding from his shoulder, pulled it back up to cover bared skin, panting, his eyes wide and wild. He crawled towards the nearest chair and tried to pull himself up.

Adam reached him before he could stand and kicked out at him. Pain flared in his ribs, and a dull series of cracks echoed through his lungs and through his body. He was sent flying and landed near the other side of the room, by his writing desk. Rolling to a stop, his long white hair was a mess, thin inner robe splaying along the floor.

The carpets glittered with torn diamonds and jewels, chains and links broken.

Cetheran remained where he was, still, broken cheek resting on the cold stone. He made no sounds. The moment he breathed in to speak, to make a noise, he was sure his lungs would protest. His anger and the energy from it was gone, sapped away by a few simple blows.

Adam panted, sounding like a beast as he wandered back and forth. Snarling.

Cetheran finally looked up when Adam neared again, shifting to try and protect his neck. Adam taken his outer jacket off, and it left him in his fine silk shirt and neck-tie. He had the crystal decanter of blood he’d brought with him in his hand.

Cetheran turned his head away too late, Adam’s fingers gripping his jaw and pulling his head back, pulling the rest of Cetheran’s body with it. His fingers dug into his bones, manipulating his jaw and forcing it open.

The blood was cold and mostly clotted now. Cetheran spluttered as Adam poured it from the raised decanter into his mouth. Most of it missed and splashed over his face and neck, onto the floor and his white hair, his pale skin.

Cetheran reached up, clawing at Adam, at his arm holding his jaw, and then decanter. He was too weak to stop or move either of them. Instead could only splutter and, eventually, breathe in the blood, his lungs and broken ribs protesting. He coughed, blood bubbling up.

Adam forced his jaw shut, his fangs narrowly missing puncturing his own lip. “Swallow,” he ordered, tone hard. The decanter fell to the floor somewhere to his left.

Cetheran swallowed, staring up the ceiling, the glittering chandelier reflecting rainbows around the room. The blood tasted flat and empty. He could taste the pig’s boredom and annoyance. He hurt. He ached. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

“Good,” Adam murmured, his touch gentling.

Cetheran’s eyes slid across to him.

Adam was flushed, healthy, like he’d had several rounds of wine, a lovely meal, carnal interactions and was about ready to sleep in a sated and inebriated heap.

Cetheran spat at him.

The blood speckled across Adam’s face.

Adam only smiled.

“I will ruin you,” Cetheran breathed through his clenched jaw, his voice hoarse, throat thick with blood. There was an audible crackle as he breathed in. “I’ll turn them against you if it’s the last thing I do.”

Adam’s smile faded. He was quiet a moment. “You are good at that,” he allowed. “But you’re past your prime and don’t have the energy, Cetheran. You’re a snowflake now, beautiful and fragile. You have no strength. No support. No friends or family.”

Cetheran’s eyes closed, the painful tug at his chest returning.

Adam made a pleased sound like he’d tasted a particularly delightful slice of meat.

“Just accept your place here, Cetheran,” Adam sighed and released his jaw. He stood. “Eat what I send you.” He fixed his shirt and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, then wiped at his face. The blood only smeared.

Cetheran’s eyes returned to the ceiling. He felt cold, half of his chest bare, the thin material of his robes doing very little to protect him. The blood was drying on his face and neck, in his pale hair. How did it come to this?

Leave.

Just leave.

Adam picked up his jacket and pulled it on again, heavy boots walking back and forth. The decanter clicked against the lacquered wood of his desk. A hand fisted around Cetheran’s upper arm, pulling him up.

Pain shot through him, his ribs protesting, and Cetheran cried out. He struggled to get his feet under him as Adam dragged him towards the door. “What?” Cetheran asked, fear shooting down his spine. He coughed, the sound wet.

“Oh, you think it can’t get worse?” Adam asked, gesturing at the heavy chamber door that was half cracked open. “You don’t want to join us tonight? You’d make a great guest, you’re already beautifully made up, as befitting of your station,” Adam growled.

He tossed Cetheran into the hallway and he collapsed against the wall opposite, a blot of white and red amongst the dark walls and tapestries. “No,” Cetheran managed then coughed, slumping to his side. Unadorned, in such a miserable, half-dressed state, Cetheran felt tears prick at his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

Adam finally stilled.

“Oh,” he said.

Cetheran looked up hesitantly, pale eyes searching for him through bloodied hair.

Adam looked genuinely surprised. “Never thought I would hear you say those words,” he said, amused. “It’s a bit late. Those words coming from a tyrant are always too late.”

“I wasn’t a tyrant to you,” Cetheran defended, curling up a little, his back leaning against the wall, knees pulling up.

Adam smiled fondly. “No. But I suffered under Eve and you made people suffer under you.”

Cetheran closed his eyes.

They remained in silence for a long while, wind howling past the windows in the hallway.


End file.
